


hammers in my head

by Ford_Ye_Fiji



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Amanda is a butt, Angst, BUT HANK UGH, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I DO NOT curse in real life, I love my boys, References to Startford tower, References to The Nest, Throw Amanda under a bus 2k18, cries, migraines obviously, references to Meeting Kamski, references to The Bridge, references to the Eden Club, so many f words, there is a bit o fluff at the end I think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 13:24:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15365625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ford_Ye_Fiji/pseuds/Ford_Ye_Fiji
Summary: CyberLife's newest and most effective program has proven 99.9% effective at keeping deviants in line. What better way to try it out in the real world than with the prototype RK-800?





	hammers in my head

**Author's Note:**

> Hank, pls stop swearing for the love of all that is holy- 
> 
> Ugh. Rated T for Hank's awful potty mouth.

The Connor RK-800 was a well designed, efficient, state of the art machine. CyberLife's greatest achievement yet. It's goal, above all else, to succeed in its mission.

Unfortunately, the Connor RK-800 began to exhibit problems early on. However, the Amanda Program was an efficient interface and doled out sufficient protocols to prevent deviancy.

* * *

 

Lieutenant Hank Anderson muttered angrily, checking the watch on his wrist with annoyance. Connor, the usually impeccable, android sent by CyberLife (stupid fuckin' androids and their stupid fuckin' repetition) was late. Considering that the same android had stormed an anti-android bar just to find him, it seemed rather worrisome that he was so late.

Hank shook his head, turning back to stare at the yellow police tape around the small three-story building. He wasn't worried about the damn thing. He wasn't, it was just a fucking piece of plastic. He scowled angrily as his brain conjured up images from yesterday of the robot grabbing his arm and hoisting him over the edge of the building and towards safety as the deviant- the mission- got away.

Hank scuffed his shoes against black asphalt and then looked up as a taxi pulled up to the curb. The figure that exited it was a familiar android with neat hair, one stubborn curl escaping the part near his forehead, in a suit jacket and tie.

Connor walked towards him, eyes rapidly flicking over the tape and Hank's irate look, processing everything and coming to conclusions at a speed that Hank could never hope to surpass. Connor tilted his head, "Good afternoon, Lieutenant. Are you aware that your stress levels are 51.3 percent and rising?"

Hank narrowed his eyes, "You plastic prick. Where the fuck have you been?" He gestured widely at the building and distinct lack of officers behind him, "It's been three fucking hours! And worse it's absolutely shitty out here." He was, of course, referring to the unusual muggy heatwave that had hit Detroit last night.

Connor glanced at the building curiously, eyes squinting, "Three hours, Lieutenant? Is it six o'clock?"

Hank gave Connor his most disgusted look, "Oh, fuck me!" Connor winced at the loud noise, in an extremely uncharacteristic motion, but Hank was too angry to address it. He spread his arms out, "Are you fuckin' tell me you lost track of the damn time?"

Connor's gaze was decidedly troubled, his LED cycling yellow, "I apologize, Lieutenant, there... Seems to be an error in my programming. It won't happen again."

Hank snarled, "It better not." Before he stormed into the apartment. Just when he thought he had taken a liking to the kid- _robot._

* * *

 

Hank frowned, brow creased in worry. This was the second time Connor was ridiculously late. Hank stood outside of Stratford Tower, breathing into his gloved hands. Where the hell was the kid? ... And for that matter, when the hell did he start calling Connor 'kid'? Maybe it had been when Connor had lowered his gun at the Eden Club, his yellow LED cycling when he saw the clasped hands. When he'd let the two androids go.

Hank moved inside the massive lobby where it was warmer. Or maybe it was when Connor had been quiet and confused and insistent at the bridge. His LED flickering red, the quiet distress on his face wiped away by an emotionless facade. His voice had had a barely imperceptible tremor to it when he'd stepped up to the gun, staring back with wet doe eyes at Hank as he'd said, "I _am_ a machine."

The kid was troubled, and Hank was worried about him.

He was even more worried when he saw Connor enter through the glass doors cautiously, straightening his tie in an odd human-like nervous tic. Hank couldn't help but see that he wore a semipermanent frown, and had a noticeably stiff gait to his steps.

"Lieutenant." He stared at the clock on the wall and then at Hank's hands before asking in a strange small sigh, as if he'd suddenly realized there was a problem, "What time is it?"

Hank crossed his arms as if preparing to do battle. His voice was rough yet it had an unexpectedly soft undertone, "It's been almost exactly three hours since I contacted you to get your sorry android ass over here."

"I apologize Lieutenant, it won't happen again."

Hank put his hands on his hips, "Yeah, yeah. That's what you said last time."

Connor followed him as he walked towards the lobby's desk, wincing at every loud noise. Hank's lips drew down in a thin angry line. Something was wrong with his partner.

* * *

 

"What a fuckin' creep! Fuck!" Hank opened the door of his car only to slam it closed again with a loud clatter. Connor winced.

Hank looked across the roof of the car at Connor, who had stopped with his hand in the door handle to look up at the sky, staring at the snowflakes falling almost lackadaisically.

"Connor, you alright kid? Did that fucker hurt you?"

His voice was tight and strained, "I am sorry, Lieutenant, for failing to get information about Jericho."

"What the fuck? I don't care. Kamski is obviously some arrogant sonvabitch who probably gets off on his fucking weirdass power trips." Hank snarled again, " _Fuck!_ "

Connor closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose, the movement eerie on an android, "Lieutenant, I suggest we get in the car now."

"Yeah, alright, alright." Hank slid in, Connor following at a slower pace. As Hank started the car to back out of the snow covered drive, he asked, "Why didn't you shoot Chloe?"

His answer was silence.

He looked at Connor and sighed when he saw that he was staring off into the middle distance, eyes dead and void. He grimaced. So the kid was reporting to the fuckers at CyberLife. Great.

It took another ten minutes before Connor surfaced again with an audible gasp. Hank's eyes flicked sideways as Connor's hands began massaging his brow, face twisted with pain.

_What the fuck?_

He said it out loud this time, "What the fuck? You okay?"

"I am fine, Lieutenant. I suggest you concentrate on driving."

Hank glared, but obeyed, stealing occasional glances at his partner with worry. His eyes remained clamped shut, his LED flickering yellow-red-yellow, and his hands at his temples. Hank finally snapped when they hit the pothole.

It wasn't a large one, but it was still enough to illicit an almost inaudible whimper from Connor.

Hank stopped the car on the shoulder of the snowy barren highway, turning to face the detective. It took Connor another worrying five minutes to realize that the car had stopped. He opened his eyes, "Why have we stopped the car? We are not at the precinct yet."

"We've stopped the car because someone isn't fuckin' telling his damn partner what the hell's wrong with him!"

Connor shrunk back at the distinct rise in volume. Hank calmed, "Why the fuck are you acting like you've got a migraine?"

Connor pinched the bridge of his nose, his human reactions just too damn creepy, "I believe that would be an apt comparison, Lieutenant."

"You mind telling me why the hell a robot would have a migraine, Connor?" His voice was carefully measured, not moving into a yell despite his clear anger.

Connor looked down at his hands now in his lap, "I disobeyed my programming, Lieutenant. I did not shoot the Chloe to discover the location of Jericho. I am showing signs of software instability and that must be stopped." He squinted at Hank, "CyberLife has deemed it a new and controversial but effective protocol in my code, even if I do lose track of time sometimes."

Hank was quiet for a moment before he turned to face forwards. He clenched the steering wheel and muttered, "Well, shit me sideways."

"Lieutenant?"

Hank's hands tightened around the steering wheel, "CyberLife assholes and their fucking scientific sadism- what the ever loving fuck-!"

Connor hissed and Hank quieted, "Well that's settles it. You're coming to my house."

He took the car out of park, tires spinning as he sped back up to the highway. Connor seemed confused, "...Lieutenant?"

"I can't do my damn job if my parter has a fucking migraine because he was made by fucking sadists!" He sighed, "You're coming to my damn house where I'll give you an ice pack or something. And Sumo. Sumo hasn't been around enough people." He sighed.

Connor looked out the window, a puzzled quirk to his lips.

After a moment of silence, the detective asked, "How long has this been going on?"

Connor looked at Hank again, the furrow still between his brow, "The protocol has always been in my functions, Lieutenant-"

"No, I meant how damn long has it taken before she said anything about this?"

Connor blinked, "The time this protocol has been put into extended use since I have worked with you has been exactly three times, Lieutenant, which is bordering on blatant insubordination. My model will probably be recalled if I do not make progress soon."

Hank cursed, "Fuckin' hell, Connor. We're going home, you're going to put ice on your head, and then, we're gonna talk about this CyberLife shit."

Connor seemed mystified, "What is there to talk about?" His voice was completely even despite the debilitating pain in his head.

Hank looked at Connor, wincing in pain, a hand on his head as he gazed quizzically at Hank. His stubborn lock of hair falling over his forehead, and that tie he obsessively straightened crumpled against his chest.

Hank shook his head, "We're on the wrong side here, son. Android or not, this whole situation is fucked up, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to do something about it."

"Lieutenant, acting in haste does not seem to be the wisest course of action-"

"Shut the fuck up, Connor." He tossed a furious glare his way before returning his attention to the road, "They're not taking you away."

Conner decided not to argue. He relaxed and, despite the pain resonating through his optics and turning his processors to mush, something warm seemed to resonate around his thirium pump when he realized that Hank had called him 'son.'

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this wonderful fanfic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15034436
> 
> By this super talented author! https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulren/pseuds/carefulren


End file.
